


A gold and green Halloween

by Tita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Drarry, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Kissing, Larry as Drarry, M/M, not really - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tita/pseuds/Tita
Summary: “You stare quite a lot, do you know that?”“Can’t help it,” Harry admits, no hesitation about this at least, “you’re just too pretty to miss.”Louis rolls his eyes.“Too smart to fall for your cheesy lines too.”Harry smiles at him.“I never expected otherwise from a Slytherin.”Harry and Louis are strangers who, dressed as Drarry, compete on a Halloween couple's costume contest. It's exactly as much of a mess as it sounds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, as always a massive thank you to my beta Cath and to J (Paynner) who gave me an amazing prompt and motivated me through this. It's silly and not much, and I apologize in advance for the terrible jokes.

“Wow, you really outdid yourself this year Harry!”

It’s Liam, voice too loud for it not to be alcohol’s fault, the pre party drinks they had finally settling in. The rest of the group hums in agreement and Harry flushes, his gold and red tie shifting under his robe.

“Thanks guys,” he says, hoping to convey how really appreciative he is. He did go a bit nuts this year, breaking out his treasured Harry Potter merchandise in a hurried frenzy that only finding out about the party two hours beforehand. He’s not as nervous as he thought he would be wearing all of it, his neatly pressed robe swaying slightly in the autumn breeze, though that might just be the liquid courage coursing through his veins.

The party is being held at some random pub that hosts themed nights, the name escaping Harry at the moment, and the music can be heard all the way down the busy street . He’s in  no rush though, no pressing need to get to the party right away. He’s surrounded by all of his friends and the beautiful night is young. Harry still doesn’t voice the sentiment, figuring that it probably wouldn’t sit well with the few girls wearing flimsy stockings, or Niall, whose intentionally  embarrassing Leprechaun outfit leaves little to the imagination.

When they do arrive at  the bar, they find the outside littered with people dressed up in the wildest outfits, an array of memes, snapchat filters, celebrities, and mildly insulting impersonations greeting them. The inside isn’t much better: a makeshift stage taking up a third of the main room and a mass of bodies filling out the rest. It’s slightly overwhelming, the heat, music, and noise hitting them all at once, so Harry excuses himself and heads to the open bar, hands itching for another drink.

Niall comes with, and a few minutes later they’re leaning on a cool counter and sipping on some mix Harry’s wary to even ask about. It calms his nerves enough for his shoulders to slump, so he stays mum, content to drink and watch as different groups move about. A great Elvis Presley is doing a line of body shots with a makeshift Kim Kardashian. The randomness it reveals is basically why Harry even agreed to come, due to his love of costume parties and  the opportunity to be someone else for a night. On this one, he gets to be another Harry, one who is brave, confident, and hella rich, and he will cherish every minute.

Harry’s torn from his tipsy brain ramblings when he feels a hand touch his shoulder, fingers pressing down on it with more force than necessary.

“You are blocking the gin, Potter,” a snobby, expertly done voice calls, and it takes Harry a minute to realize that it’s _him_ , Draco Malfoy is talking to him. Or well, he realizes once he turns around and has a second for his brain to catch up, a flushed brunette dressed as him is.

“Am I?” Harry asks, tone giving away the pure awe he feels in that moment.

“You are, dumbass,” the Draco imposter says, harsh words coming out in such a perfect accent that Harry sorta feels like fainting.

“Hey, that’s not nice,” he still replies, pouting slightly at the incredibly handsome stranger who he doesn’t even know the name of but who is already insulting him.

The combination of pouting and soft whining must be effective, because Draco looks momentarily abashed, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m sorry, I just get too into character sometimes.”

They both laugh at that, at how silly they are for loving a fictional universe enough that they’re currently having this conversation, dressed head to toe in costumes at some random bar.

“It’s okay, I’m quite the fan myself,” Harry says, gesturing to his costume and the tiny wrinkles it has gathered simply from squeezing through the crowd of strangers.

“I’m Harry,” he says, offering his hand for a shake.

“I’m Draco,” Draco replies, lips widening into a full blown dopey smile, as he takes Harry’s hand. His smile makes Harry almost forget the topic of conversation from  how pretty it is.

“No, no,” Harry laughs, “I’m actually really Harry.”

“Are you saying my costume isn’t good enough for me to be Draco?” Draco complains, a hint of annoyance and hurt pride creeping into his tone and making Harry stumble over his words to clarify.

“Oh absolutely not, you look hot as hell!” His brain supplies, catching up a moment later, making him realize that that isn’t actually a reassurance, and that he should’ve kept that fact to himself.

“Hot as hell _and_ really accurate, you mean,” Draco replies, the laughter in his voice contradicting his cocked hip and raised brow.

“Well, yeah,” Harry admits, eyes raking over the stranger’s figure, the green sweater contrasting beautifully with his skin, slacks tighter than he ever remembers Tom Felton wearing in the movie (and much tighter than he believes Hogwarts would allow).

“Good boy,” Harry’s told, with pursed lips that do everything to accentuate the boy’s amazing cheekbones.

“Already at pet names and I don’t even know your name, Draco,” Harry tries, the stupidity he feels at saying that outloud greatly diminished by the loud cackle he receives from it.

“Oh? But you just used it,” Draco says, the mischievous twinkle in his eye appearing before he relents.

“My muggle name is Louis, though.”

“Louis,” Harry tests on his tongue, “it’s a nice name.”

Louis brightens up. “Nowhere near as menacing as Draco, ‘m afraid.”

Harry considers it for a moment, trying to figure out the reply that will make Louis want to continue this conversation in the space they’ve created for themselves. Niall is apparently long gone and forgotten with Louis now in his spot, extending to get the bottle from behind Harry and getting their chests almost pressed together with a confidence their easy banter and drinks must’ve brought. Or maybe it’s default Louis, this ball of wit and comebacks a daily occurrence that Harry wouldn’t mind being there to watch.

“Who needs a menacing name when you’ve got a charming personality?” He tries, a hunch and the telltale blush on Louis’s cheeks hinting at his love for compliments.

“You are being too nice for a declared enemy, Harry,” Louis notes, eyes crinkling at the corners and his body begins to relax into the counter, which makes their sides touch. It would be an understatement to say Harry’s burning from it .

“Well, I just think we Potter fans need to stick together in times like this.”

“Times like this?” Louis questions.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, willing his mouth to relax from the constant smile that he’s sported these past few minutes.

“You never know who’s not faking it. I’m not risking facing a real monster alone, I’m clumsy as hell.”

Louis humours him, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

“And you expect me to believe _you_ can protect me?” He skeptically asks, his upturned brow and inquisitive look so overdone it has Harry giggling and nodding.

“I have a wand,” Harry supplies.

“Ah,” Louis responds, comebacks so quick Harry feels like he’s following behind him like a lost puppy through the whole conversation.

“But so do I, and I’m very skilled at handling it.”

It’s in all ways a flirty line, Harry’s face heating up even more at the words, Louis’s sly smile confirming the thoughts that now invade his mind. Harry’s got a sexy dork, who also loves Harry Potter, flirting with him in a loud and crowded bar, and it may be the greatest moment of his year. Of course, it’s too good to last, and they’re burst out of their bubble by Liam and Niall, who push their way back to them with a lot more stumbling than before.

“Harry, there you are!” Liam calls, voice so loud Harry can almost hear how drunk he is.

“Yep,” Harry replies, trying, and failing, not to show how utterly angry he feels at Liam for interrupting.

“The costume contest is starting soon, you don’t wanna miss that,” Niall supplies, explaining at last why they’ve come back for him.

“Contest?” Louis echoes, voice pulling Harry’s gaze from Niall and landing it back on his precious face, clean shaven cheeks so inviting for his lips to press against that Harry sort of needs a moment.

“It’s a couple’s one,” Niall continues, “so we’re just watching.”

It’s an obvious truth, one that makes Harry and Liam nod along, but Louis doesn’t, brows furrowing and his stance changing into one more strung, attention seemingly caught. Harry has no idea what is happening, but he’s irrationally jealous at whatever Louis will do next, wanting all his attention on him. Christ, it may be too much, but if he only has an excuse to talk to him tonight, Harry might as well milk it for all it’s worth.

“We’re not,” Louis says, voice more sure than Harry thought capable with the drinks he must’ve had.

“We’re not what?” Harry asks dumbly, brain not catching up.

Louis hits him in the arm, probably going for soft but excitement tipping the scales towards bruising. Harry still counts it as Louis touching him, therefore it’s a win.

“ _We’re_ not just watching, Harry, we are signing up and winning!” Louis yells, voice too loud and enthusiastic for a plan that seems dubious at best.

“We don’t have a couple’s costume,” Harry slowly points out, as if it weren’t evident.

They’re also not a couple, but Louis doesn’t seem to care one bit.

Louis scoffs.

“Come on, Draco and Harry are totally gay for eachother.”

“They’re not!” Liam protests, as if that is the strangest part of the conversation.

“They so are, Li, haven’t you seen the movies?” Harry defends, always one for gay subplot and even more so if it keeps  him and Louis glued together for a while longer.

“See? It’s perfect,” Louis declares, clapping his hands to finalize a plan that Harry’s not entirely  sure he understands.

“We will win the competition and then celebrate with a few shot rounds. Sounds good?” He thinks to ask, looking at Harry for confirmation he knows he can’t  deny. Liam and Niall woop, half because of the mention of winning and half because a crazy plan is always a good idea for drunks.

However, once that’s done Niall’s face falls, and he clutches Harry’s bicep tightly enough to call his attention.

“Wait, I think they said sign ups were closed,” he says, voice sounding grave .

“Fuck that,” Louis replies in an instant, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist and pulling him away from their space, so fast he gets dizzy from it.

Louis continues pulling, though, shoving past tons of costumed students in order to get to the other end of the bar, stopping for just a second before darting off again, Harry following behind like a rag doll. People stare at them, but Harry doesn’t care, not with how warm Louis’s grip is on him, how the lack of space pushes their bodies together in ways that only hint at scenarios that drive him crazy. He’s marveling in some of those tempting thoughts when Louis stops moving as abruptly as he’d begun, having bulldozed his way to the makeshift stage.

Harry can only watch with amusement at how Louis ropes in the poor girl handling the competition clipboard to sign them up, gesturing wildly and promising her that winning is their dying wish. It’s hilarious, the way she eyes them for a second before nodding, as if something in the way Louis still hasn’t let go of Harry or how close they’re standing could be any indicator of how they would do in a couple’s contest. She doesn’t argue about the validity of their relationship, so Harry allows himself to acknowledge that yes, this is his life, signing up for a couple’s contest in the most nerdy costume, with a boy whose eyes twinkle with delight and whose hand still hasn’t left his. He thinks he could do much worse.

*

Turns out, the owner of the bar doesn’t do things halfway, so Harry and Louis find themselves listening to a five minute long explanation of the competition that’s way more complicated than a game for drunk students has any right to be. The contest begins with a general show of each  couple, with a brief explanation of what their costume is and why it’s the best. After that, a loosely adapted version of the newlywed game, and, to top it all, off a three-legged race.

“Isn’t it just a costume contest?” Harry asks after one of the girls volunteering finishes explaining, eyes roaming over a table full of props, signs and sheets displaying a level of organization he’s not even sure his university has.

“Oh, don’t be a grump, it’ll be fun,” Louis chides, patting his back and solidifying the notion that he is, in fact, a very tactile man. It absolutely doesn’t make Harry want to squeal in glee.

“Yeah, we’ve done it every year for the past three Halloweens, it’s a laugh,” the girl confirms, heavy makeup contrasting with her inviting smile.

“See? Trust the experts, Harold.”

Harry rolls his eyes, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Is there a prize?” He asks, not wanting to sound greedy but unable to keep his curiosity at bay. He hasn’t had anything to eat, so any sort of food reward would make him almost as motivated as spending the whole night by Louis’s side.

“About a hundred dollars worth of Starbucks gift cards, yeah,” the volunteer replies, before being called over by someone else, leaving Harry with a shocked Louis.

“Oh, now we _have_ to win this thing,” Louis says, not a shred of doubt in his words. It almost sounds like he wants this more than anything else in the world, but Harry’s had quite a few frappuccinos in his time, so he gets it.

He still smirks.

“What happened to having fun?”

“We can have fun and beat all the others at the same time,” Louis reasons, turning to face Harry now that the girl is gone.

“Don’t you think that, you know, actual couples will be much better at working together?”

Harry hates to say it, but it’s true. He’s known Louis for half an hour, and though their bodies certainly seem to think they have some chemistry, it would be foolish to assume it is stronger than a real couple’s.

“Nah,” Louis counters with a grin that has Harry swooning, “I think we’re good enough to take them.”

Harry shakes his head, unbelieving.

“Hope is the last thing that’s lost, after all.”

Louis laughs, the sound high and wonderful. It stirs up a funny feeling in Harry’s stomach.

As soon as they’re quiet again and Harry begins to wonder what to say next, someone starts clapping on stage, a booming voice announcing that the contest will finally begin. Louis and Harry hurry to join a line of couples they hadn’t seen before, eyes meeting when the host repeats the prize and calls the first couple onto the stage.

It’s a girl dressed as an angel and a boy wearing devil’s horns, both their outfits very haphazard. Louis nudges Harry in the ribs as soon as they begin speaking.

“We look so much better than them,” he whispers conspiratorially over Harry’s ear, breath tickling the hairs on his neck. Harry quietly laughs, shoving Louis back lightly and motioning for him to be quiet, which is silly when the party has barely quieted down to listen to the contestants.

“Still, I would pay to see you in her costume,” Louis continues, voice low and sure, in ways Harry deems dangerous, both for his health and tightly tucked dick.

“Really? I don’t think it’d suit me,” Harry comments back, giving up on pretending to listen to the speaking couple.

Louis hums, voice barely audible over the noise.

“True,” he pensively says,“You’re more like a devil aren’t you? All sin and no apologies.”

It takes everything in Harry not to visibly react to the remark, mind going crazy with the possible implications. He has to force out some words, some miserable attempt to keep up with the fireball of quick wit and relentless flirtation that Louis’ turning out to be.

“You don’t know that, I could be an angel,” he counters, laughing to himself at how ridiculous that claim is, memories of one too many played out kinks and escapades for him to fit the angel criteria. Though Louis doesn’t know that ( _yet_ , his mind wistfully supplies).

Louis laughs again in a manner that should be insulting, really, but simply falls into the category of irresistible.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

Harry laughs and nudges him with his shoulders, hands itching to wrap around his tiny shoulders, engulf him in a flurry of black robes and warm skin.

“You’re a right menace.”

Louis doesn’t miss a beat.

“A menace that’s gonna make you win, now c’mon, they’re calling us on.”

Harry allows himself to be tugged yet again, though this time it’s past a row of people and onto the stage, a repurposed shadeless lamp serving as their spotlight. It’s not a sea of people that’s staring back at them, but it might as well be, Harry’s nerves kicking up and threatening to turn him into a sweat puddle before Louis begins talking.

“Okay you muggles, listen up for I am speaking,” he starts, voice gone posh and snooty again, and Harry should definitely not feel his arousal  spike at that.

“We,” Louis says while gesturing at the both of them, Harry lifting up his hand to wave dorkily, figuring that if they’re playing it up it still fits with his character, “are Harry and Draco, and we are _clearly_ the best character couple.”

He holds the mood for a second, Harry beginning to get antsy at the weird looks and frowns, before bursting out in a laugh, the climate dissipating as quick as he’d set it when everyone realizes they’ve been played.

“Sorry everyone, that’s just the drama student in me,” Louis jokes, smile widening noticeably as a few people laugh along, every set of eyes in the party that’s sober enough to see them set on him.

Harry still hasn’t said a thing, but somehow, he doesn’t think anyone has noticed.

“But really, aren’t Harry’s looks over here simply magical?” Louis asks, turning halfway to gesture at him, eyes crinkling in a way they weren’t before, his gaze the only one that matters even when everyone else in the room is staring.

“Oh stop it, that’s just your wand talking,” Harry jokes, revelling in the laughs he pulls out of everyone, especially Louis, who positively glows at Harry’s interaction. It may be good for the competition to banter like this, but it’s even better for Harry’s ego, because  making Louis proud is apparently the best self esteem booster.

“Harold, don’t traumatize the audience, they will think we’re veelas instead of wizards.”

Louis says it in a tone of mock scolding, words sounding so sure that Harry suddenly can’t picture him anywhere else but on the stage, Louis’ choice of major so appropriate that it makes Harry want to clap for some reason. Yet, he’s never claimed to be a rational person, and even less so around pretty boys with stars in their eyes and sharp tongues that know all the right words to say.

“Though to be honest, my wand doesn’t need any levitation spells around him, if you know what I mean,” Louis adds, lowering his tone as if admitting a dark secret that makes the whole room erupt in laughter, Harry himself doubling over and having to cover his reddened face.

The hand on his shoulder takes Harry by surprise, but it turns out to be the host that’s ushering them off  the stage claiming they need to continue, a lingering smile on his face revealing a smidge of reluctance. Louis pretends to be pissed off for a whole second before relenting, throwing an exaggerated wink to the audience and allowing himself to be guided down.

Once they’re off, Harry can’t help but hug Louis, leftover nerves from the unexpected spotlight mixing with the hurricane of feelings about Louis brewing inside him. His arms completely engulf him, but Louis hugs him back, arms wound behind Harry’s back in a way that makes him want to stay like this forever.

“You did great,” Harry tells him honestly, forcing himself to let go of Louis and take a small step back, hating the new distance way too much.

“Thanks,” Louis replies, voice gone so soft Harry would’ve thought he imagined it if not for the flush high on his cheeks and the tempting way his lips wrap around the word.

“You were quite charming yourself.”

It’s Harry’s turn to flush now, pride blooming wildly in his chest and cheeks are aching from the smile he cannot contain.

“Do you want me to go get us a drink before the game starts?” Harry asks, feeling more sober than he has any right to be at a Halloween party.

“Yes please,” Louis replies, “I need to be way more drunk for this.”

Harry nods and goes off in search for drinks, the line waiting to be served is so long he gets back to Louis with just enough time for them to head back to the stage, couples already gathering round for the newlywed game. There’s a couple of benches free for them to take, and when they do, they find themselves in a semicircle of about five couples, each dressed up to the nines. Harry’s nerves return.

“Do you really think we can do this? I mean I don’t know much about you,” he voices, leaning into Louis so as to keep the secret between them, and maybe also to smell his rich cologne again, fragrance addicting and maddening.

“What do you mean?” Louis plays dumb, placing his hand on Harry’s knee and lighting it on fire.

“You know I’m funny and hot and a total nerd,” he continues, hand sure and eyes glowing in the barely lit bar, “and the rest we’ll just make up as we go along. How hard could it be?”

He shrugs carelessly, and Harry scoffs, still unsure.

“But none of our answers will match and we’ll look ridiculous,” he stresses.

“And who cares if we do?” Louis counters, certainty so obvious it’s almost infectious. “We will still have had fun and laughed our asses off.”

Harry considers his words.

“You’re right.”

It’s Louis’s turn to scoff now, sound vaguely mocking,“of course I am,” he confirms.

“Now just reply to every question as if you were me, and I’ll try my best to do like you.”

Harry agrees, and Louis continues.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, I’ll just have to think like a cute boy.”

Harry’s quick this time.

“So like you usually do, then?”

Louis clucks his tongue.

“You’re getting smart on me.”

Harry tilts his head, giving Louis his best smile.

“I’m just learning from the best.”

They both just stare at each other after that, their faces gone too close from the hushed chat and the overwhelming noise, and Harry could lean over and kiss him, lips aching for the contact. He hasn’t kissed anyone in ages, much less anyone he wants to get to know besides a one night stand, and he’s almost desperate for it, wants to lose himself in it so bad he could cry out in frustration when Louis smiles and pulls away.

“The game’s starting,” he says, voice still soft to not startle Harry, who’s still stuck in the moment, in the daydream that they could be  together was a possible outcome.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry stutters, forcing his muscles to cooperate and leave a space between them.

Nobody else is looking at them, but Harry still feels like he’s on fire, like everyone here except Louis can tell how badly he wants him, how he would kiss  him right here and now if he thought he’d get a kiss back. He doesn’t though, not with how nonchalantly Louis pulled away, how he turned around and began a conversation with the next couple over. It makes sense that he would, with how friendly he is, and Harry wonders if it’s all supposed to be symbolic of tonight, of how hung up on him Harry is and how fickle Louis’s attention is.

Or maybe Harry is just drunker than he thought and making assumptions out of random shit. It happens.

Another volunteer comes through the stage and hands each of them a small whiteboard and a marker, Louis immediately forgetting his conversation and beginning to draw on it with a smirk. Harry’s lost until he turns it around, a tiny dick drawn in the corner of it.

“Is it to scale?” He teases, unable to resist at least having some fun. If Louis doesn’t want them to take it to that level he’ll stop, but  in the meantime Harry’ll continue to get suggestive looks like the one Louis is giving him right now and enjoy the giggles they cause.

“Yes,” Louis nods seriously, “ten to one, I take my work very seriously.”

It’s so silly yet amusing, this effortless banter they’ve got going on, that Harry wants to stay like this until they run out of words. Or the game starts, which appears to be sooner rather than later.

“Good to know,” he replies anyways, eyebrows wiggling so exaggeratedly Louis bursts out in a new round of giggles.

The host begins by explaining the game, announcing each couple will have four questions about each other, that they will both answer on their boards. If their answers  match, they get a point. It’s fairly simple, and they all seem to get it, excitement and nerves making everyone smile as it begins, a couple a space over being the first.

Harry bounced nervously in his chair, watching Louis almost as much as the couple answering, feeling a pang of what could perhaps be jealousy at how tactile they are, how obviously intimate. He’s always been one for relationships and commitment, and his streak of being single isn’t sitting well at all, much less surrounded by happy couples. Such thoughts threaten to dampen his mood, so he wills them away, focusing instead on the host that now stands before them.

“Okay you guys, what are your names?” He asks, grin so large Harry fears for his face.

Louis takes the initiative, speaking without hesitation.

“I’m Louis, and this is my boyfriend Harry.”

Harry’s heart jumps at the word, mind instantly chastising himself for reacting so strongly to being called that. He chucks it off to his ongoing singleness.

“Great, then we’ll start with you Louis,” the host continues, angling himself so that the people watching (most of them though drunken, half lidded eyes) can see both of them as they shift in preparation.

“If Harry could be any famous person, who would they be?”

It shocks Harry, the randomness of the question, the utter improbability that they’ll get this right, but Louis simply smirks and begins writing, forehead creasing in concentration. He’s not the only one, though, Harry having to stop his staring to actually think about it for a minute, marker sliding smoothly over the board once he gets it.

“Okay, what did you write as Harry’s superstar persona, Louis?”

Louis turns around his board, reading the words out loud.

“Susan Boyle, for sure.”

A surprised laugh is forced out of Harry.

“What the hell, Lou?” He asks, laughter threatening to bubble up the longer he thinks about it.

“You already look so much alike, I figured you would want to be her just to keep your hair,” Louis justifies, smile so big and mischievous Harry wants to stop the game and just call him out on his shit, but the host is turning to him now.

“Mick Jagger,” he reads out loud, “how could you not get it?”

“Oh excuse me, mister rock and roll,” Louis replies, sarcasm so heavy Harry rolls his eyes.

“You could’ve been my Bowie,” he laments, shaking his head and laughing along with the few people paying attention to the contest.

Louis himself laughs along, but he’s only just begun his teasing.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me tonight, so I’ll take it.”

Harry’s protests are cut off by the host, who loudly announces the next couple’s turn is due.

Once the spotlight isn’t on them, Harry turns to Louis expectantly, a million questions (but mainly “what the fuck?” going through his mind but Louis only winks at him, eyelashes fluttering as he winks and turns to watch the next couple, absolutely no explanation given.

Harry’s beginning to guess this’ll be a pattern.

He does get his revenge when, on the next round, the host asks him what’s Louis’s most irritating habit, to which he answers ‘being a smartass’, reading it outloud with a self satisfied smirk.

Louis only pretends to be cross for a minute, turning his own board around to reveal a ‘mouthy’ that scores them their first point, both pairs of eyes meeting in a disbelieving stare. Harry’s tempted to pull him close in celebration, hug him, snog him, but the host moves on far too quickly and the moment dissipates, disappointment blooming strongly in his stomach.

Harry figures he should know how the other couples are doing, with it being a competition and all, but when he looks up from where his gaze had fallen, he realizes he had no clue.

“How are we doing?” He asks Louis, voice but a whisper.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Louis says, mimicking Harry’s tone.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one!”

“Draco is smart too!” Harry protests, questioning how they manage to get so off track so easily.

“Yeah, but Potter is the suck up.”

“Oh he sucks, all right.”

The opportunity is too good to pass up, Harry replying with exaggerated eyebrow wiggles that set Louis off. They’re still laughing when the host returns to them.

“For your third question, Louis will have to answer: what colour are Harry’s eyes?”

It’s an easy one, which for them means it’s one that could completely expose their bluff, since it would be crazy for a couple not to know this, so Harry writes his down while eying Louis, whose hand hesitates more than before. He also takes longer than Harry, who has merely written ‘green’ in big letters. It sets off his nerves and makes his leg bounce in anticipation.

“Let’s see then, what colour are Harry’s eyes, Louis?”  
There’s no hint of playfulness, no teasing when Louis speaks this time, but instead something that feels close to honesty, his eyes not meeting Harry as they stay focused solely on the board.

“They’re green, but not plain green. There are some flecks of gold in them, and from time to time a little bit of grey too.”

The host himself seems taken aback, and Harry himself so much more, not having imagined in a thousand years that Louis had been paying that close attention to any part of him. When he turns his own board, people cheer, and yet he’s stuck trying to figure out Louis, who shyly looks up from his board, and through his lashes makes eye contact with Harry. There’s no laughter or teasing, and Harry could swear that the bar’s volume silences as they stare, one trying to figure out the other before he gets swept up in the amazing tornado he is proving to be.

The game, of course, moves on, and Harry remains stuck, caught on trying to figure out if he should say anything or leave it be and bask in the confirmation of Louis’s attention. The other couples reply to their own questions and their laughter fills the air that’s being left otherwise empty and heavy, and it’s not until they’re one couple away from being asked the last question that Louis speaks.

“You stare quite a lot, do you know that?”

“Can’t help it,” Harry admits, no hesitation about this at least, “you’re just too pretty to miss.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Too smart to fall for your cheesy lines too.”

Harry smiles at him.

“I never expected otherwise from a Slytherin.”

 And thus, like that, their weird spell is broken and the world’s order returns to that of teasing and cheekiness they’ve established. Just in time for the last question too, as the host announces it.

“Harry, what’s Louis’s shoe size?” The host asks, crowd sniggering at the obvious implication.

Harry really ponders about it before writing it down, feeling Louis’s curious stare on him,

“Louis is a size eight, perfect size to work with, you know?” He smugly answers, half expecting Louis’s exasperated swat amongst people’s chuckles.

“I’m actually a size nine,” Louis corrects once the host instructs him to, “but I understand the confusion, I’m usually underestimated.”

He delivers the last part directly to Harry, punctuating it with a suggestive eyebrow raise that makes Harry want to tear his hair out in frustration. The crowd laughs accordingly and moves on to the last couple, but Louis inches closer, self satisfaction at his comeback still evident.

“What? Can’t handle a big one, Potter?” He asks, adding the accent on and making it ten times worse.

He fumbles for an answer, tongue tied and random sounds coming out until he decides on a pathetic, whiny sounding ‘no’ that breaks Louis into giggles.

“If you say so,” Louis sing songs.

It should make Harry mad, this blatant mockery, but it makes Louis flushed and giggly with how clever he thinks he is, so he stays mum, basking in the view.

Thankfully, this section of the game is done before he can begin to drool at Louis, and as the host adds up the final tallies, Harry feels a warm hand slip into his, fingers intertwining easily. When he looks up, surprised and with a rapid heartbeat, Louis is staring intently ahead, but there’s a smile playing at his lips that makes one spread on Harry’s face. It’s almost like a secret, an undercover thing that this is the first gesture of this kind when they’re supposedly an established couple, and it adds the extra sparkle that the gesture didn’t quite need, the act in itself enough to kick Harry’s sweat glands into gear and brain into overdrive.

None of them says anything until the host calls both their names, grips tightening as he gears up to call out the score.

“Two points out of four, which means you are third out of five so far!”

It’s more than Harry would’ve expected, really, and it causes a surge of excitement that courses through him, Louis cheering next to him and pulling him into an unexpected hug, bodies pressed together again and yet still not exactly how Harry wants them to. He still savours it, burying his nose in Louis’s nape and revelling in how warm he feels, full of life and excitement.

The whole bar joins in as the host announces the last part will begin soon in the back of the pub, so if they would all relocate there, it would be awesome. Louis cuts off their hug to go with the flow, claiming he wants to get a good spot. His hand is still tangled with Harry, who feels himself be pulled along in a repeat of earlier, only this time he’s part of a mass that moves that way.

It turns out the bar has quite a sizeable garden, which is mostly free save from some scattered chairs and fairy lights that give the space an eerie vibe that Harry digs. What he doesn’t like as much is the cold. The temperature has gone down several degrees in the time they’ve been here, breeze still blowing the fabric on his robe. He’s quite bundled up in his costume, so he doesn’t really mind, but Louis pulls him closer again as soon as they stop moving, small frame sticking to Harry’s front in a poor attempt to warm himself up.

“Warmth potions work wonders when compared to humans in too many robes,” Harry suggests, lacing his arms around Louis’s shoulders with thinly veiled motives and pulling him even closer, blaming the liquid courage that still pumps through his brains for the way he confidently does it. Louis doesn’t protest, however, but instead burrows into Harry’s chest, cheeks smushed and making up such a cute picture Harry could swear he feels his heart melting.

“They don’t call me pretty or cuddle me in the middle of a mob, though,” Louis mumbles, voice muffled by his squished cheeks, making him sound smaller and oh so incredibly adorable. Harry wants nothing more than to bundle him up and take him home; a thought so pure against his previous one his brain (and dick) begins to get whiplash.

It makes sense for Louis, though, this sweet and hot juxtaposition, his character so much more than Harry’s initial two dimensional assessment, that Harry doesn’t question him. Instead, he smiles down and holds him close, wishing time would pause long enough for him to get his fill of cuddly Louis.

And yet, as usual, time continues passing, and it’s all too soon that the host starts the race, beckoning the couples closer and arranging them in a single horizontal line. Harry lets go of Louis not without a heavy dose of regret and wistfulness that he only consoles with the promise of later that seems more of a real possibility with each passing moment.

As he understands it, the race is fairly simple, it’s about a quarter street long through wild grass that is visibly unkempt. The real difficulty is the tape they’re being handed to secure their legs together, and with Harry’s clumsiness he’s doubtful they’ll even manage to finish it. Still, when Louis is handed the tape he stays silent, quietly observing how easily Louis bends down, the tempting curve of his ass accentuated in the position.

It’s all fine as he feels his left leg begin to be wrapped up under his robe, which Louis easily pushes aside, but as he goes up, Harry becomes acutely aware of how close to his crotch Louis’s face really is. He feels his face grow hot, and he releases a thankful sigh when Louis stops just below their knees, righting himself swiftly. His face is red too, the only difference is that it  makes sense for his face  to be red, and though Harry was hoping  the night would  conceal his, Louis smirks knowingly at him.

“Ready?” He asks Harry, testing the strength of their union by moving his leg around. Harry only mildly feels like a ragdoll.

“As much as I’ll ever be,” Harry replies, nervously tapping his free foot.

“Don’t worry,” Louis reassures him, hand coming up to rest on Harry's arm comfortingly, “I’m quite steady on my feet.”

“I’m not, I’m _really_ not.”

Louis seems nonplussed,“I’ll just have to carry the weight of this relationship, then.”

Harry smiles.“I’ll do my best not to interfere,” he offers with an embarrassed laugh at his lack of balance .

“That’s right,” Louis says, “just follow  along and look pretty, that’ll be your job.”

“I thought that was yours.”

Louis tightens his grip a little and leans into Harry.

“We Slytherins are multitaskers, didn’t you know?”

Harry’s “I bet” is swallowed by the cheers of the mob that has surrounded them, as the game prepares  to begin. All traces of a smile is wiped off Louis’s face, and Harry feels himself fill with dread, muscles tensing up. That’s when he feels a hand take his, fingers wrapping around his own securely, but when he looks at Louis there’s no emotion in his face save for a tiny tilt of his mouth. It distracts him enough that he almost misses the beep that signals the start, and he stumbles slightly when Louis surges forward.

They manage to hold the lead for a few seconds, both of them breathing heavily as they try to coordinate their combined  limbs. The other couples follow them closely behind, their pants and giggles resonating in Harry’s ear as he concentrate. He sees the couple to the right take lead and he hears Louis swear. So he redoubles his effort, legs aching and heart racing as they near the tree they’re supposed to round, both of them taking the turn messily and stumbling over each other, letting out a string of curses that fuses into one filthy stream.

It’s then when he notices that Louis is playfully shoving the couple to their left, him and the boyfriend pushing each other when one catches up. Interested, Harry tunes in to what he’s saying as they near the finish line, pushes getting stronger and shaking Harry’s balance.

When they’re a few strides away from the finish line, Louis shoves the other guy harder, yelling out a “ _Arresto momentum_!” that immediately breaks Harry into a honking laugh, causing them to fall behind and end in third place.

“Did you just,” Harry pants, “try to cast a spell on them?”

Louis breathes heavily a few times before replying.

“It was what came to mind,” he admits, blush blooming high on his cheeks, “I’m not really a good loser.”

Harry laughs along with him, hand still clutching Louis’s with no intention of letting go.

The host speaks up before they can continue.

“Okay, everyone, now comes the voting part! Write down your favourite couple and leave it at the bar until three, and then we’ll announce the winner.”

That leaves them with fifteen minutes to kill, and as the crowd dissipates to do the voting, Harry and Louis stay in their place, legs still bound together and bodies closer than strictly necessary. The volume level goes down drastically, and they’re left staring at each other, Louis biting his lip and Harry tempted to lean in more than ever.

“We’re probably not going to win,” is what Harry says instead of kissing him, words coming out of his mouth before he can think about it.

“Not a chance in hell,” Louis agrees, words clashing with the way he’s smiling at up Harry, like he doesn’t care one bit.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harry apologises anyway, “you could’ve won if you paired with anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding in a way that makes Harry’s heart sink, “but I wouldn’t have had half the fun I had with you.”

“You had fun?” Harry asks, surprised.

Louis cocks his head like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Of course I did, I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a long time.”

Harry’s chest fills with pride at that, smile stretching uncontrollably,“Me too,” he admits, voice gone quiet as if the fact that this is one of his top ten nights isn’t abundantly clear in the way he looks at Louis.

There’s a pause in which Louis gives him an odd look, taking a step closer so that they’re chest to chest, Harry having to look down to maintain eye contact.

“You’re something else, Harry…” Louis mutters, fishing for a last name, and Harry’s all too glad to give.

“Styles.”

Louis hums, hand letting go of Harry’s to come up around his neck, cold skin meeting warmth and launching Harry’s heart into overdrive.

“You should kiss me, Harry Styles.”

It surprises Harry as much as it doesn’t, the whole night having geared up to this, to what feels like standing on the edge of a cliff without knowing what’s at the bottom but wanting, no, _needing_ to take the fall.

“Oh really?” He asks, unable to help it.

Louis hums in agreement, and Harry lets out a soft ‘okay’ before leaning down and capturing Louis’s lips in his, his own hands circling Louis’s slim waist and ensuring there’s absolutely no space in between them.

The kiss feels like the whole night, wild and exciting and slightly terrifying in that exhilarating way. Louis goes soft when he’s being kissed, his grip more sure as he coaxes his mouth open. He tilts his head and whimpers, unable to hold onto everything the kiss is making him feel.

They’re in the middle of a chilly garden with people watching, and yet Harry could stay like this forever, body aching for more as their groans become more frequent, tongues more daring. It feels like he could never get enough now that he’s got a taste, and Louis seems to agree, hands coming up to grasp at the short hairs on the nape of Harry’s neck, lust etched into every movement.

“Hey guys, they’re about to- woah!” Niall calls before setting eyes on them, startling both into separating, lips tingling and chests flushed.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, too late for it to change anything.

Harry and Louis share a look before bursting into giggles, Harry’s hand finding Louis’s and wiping his mouth off with the other.

“It’s fine,” Louis assures him, “we don’t want to miss the announcement, do we Haz?”

Harry only pretends to ponder for a minute until Louis swats him on the chest, unable to hide his pleased smile at Harry’s obvious reluctance.

“I guess not,” he relents, answer greeted by Niall’s snort that promises so much teasing later.

Niall proceeds to shake his head and turn towards the bar, but before Harry can follow him, Louis stills him by his hand, standing on his tiptoes to whisper into Harry’s ear.

“Don’t worry, babe, if all goes as planned, Myrtle won’t be the only one moaning tonight.”

Harry, who’d been expecting anything else besides that, bursts out laughing, brain half amused, half horny at the implications, and Louis looks pleased at the apparent conundrum, setting off towards the bar with a giggling Harry behind him.

A couple of strangers smile knowingly at them, which deepens Harry’s flush, and they settle close to the stage, where the host holds a paper supposedly containing the winners. There’s no real suspense on their part, with how badly they did, but Harry still wiggles his brows when Louis looks at him, revelling in the smile he gets. Niall spares a glance at them and laughs.

“Well, it’s time to wrap this up, people!” The host declares, pausing to let the crowd holler, Harry and Louis joining in with cheers.

“You’ve voted, they’ve played, and now it’s time to call for a winning couple to come get their prize. So,” he continues, the bar quieting down in anticipation as the host breathes in slowly, his eyes roaming over the mass of people conspiratorially.

“Will our winners Adam and Melissa please come on stage to collect your gift cards?”

Though he was expecting it, Harry still feels a pang of disappointment that must show, for Louis nudges him with his elbow and cups his hands around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone.

“My father will hear about this!” He yells, voice carrying over the noise and making even the host laugh. It instantly dissipates any negative feelings Harry could’ve had.

As a thanks, Harry leans down and pecks Louis’s lips, letting out a surprised, but muffled, yelp when Louis grabs the back of his head to keep him there, flushed and warm and more content than he could ever express.

He’s, to put it lightly, dazed when they separate, and the fond smile Louis shoots his way makes his heart flutter dangerously.

“‘M not nearly done with you yet, Potter.”

“I’ve got all night,” Harry replies.

Louis pretends to think about it.

“How about the whole day? We didn’t win the gift cards, but I’d still love to buy you a latte later.”

“Why later?” Harry asks anyways, unable to resist the banter.

“Because I plan for us to be very busy tonight, that’s why.”

He says it so confidently, and his whole body is leaning into Harry’s, so really, there’s no choice to be made, and Harry is oh so fine with that.

*

“Are you done? I really want you to fuck me before we go.”

Harry shouldn't have to ask his boyfriend for that, hell he doesn’t even have to speak to get Louis on him any other day, but with how intensely they’ve been preparing for this Halloween party, he’s had to resort to last minute tactics.

“I know, babe, but I really need to finish this, and besides, I don’t want to ruin our costumes,” Louis replies, not looking up from where he’s gluing a series of sequins onto his outfit.

Harry really thought it’d be easier this year, with their costumes being fairly easy, yet he’d forgotten Louis’ competitive streak and the utmost need to win the competition that brought them together a year ago.

“But I’m horny,” Harry whines from his spot on the bed, palm coming up to cup his dick through his ridiculously tight trousers. He should’ve guessed going as Bowie and Jagger would’ve put unnecessary stress on both Louis and his dick.

“Then jerk off, I’m not stopping you.”

Harry pouts, mind suddenly reminding him of another aspect of Louis.

“I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to do me, then, since you’re _so_ busy.”

That does the trick of making Louis look up, suddenly interested.

“Oh really? Think you’re gonna find someone to fuck you as well  as I do?”

Harry hums, coy smile and hooded eyes.

“Maybe.”

Louis lets out a mocking ‘ha’, finally abandoning his spot to walk over to the bed, leaning down and snogging Harry with a passion that makes his dick positively ache.

“We both know that’s not gonna happen,” Louis says once they pull off, pupils blown and skin flushed, “so let me finish this and then I’ll get you off like a good boy, deal?”

Harry nods, and as he watches Louis return to his costume, he’s sure about two things. One, that they will definitely win the competition this year, and two, that when he agreed to go along with Louis’s first crazy plan, he got so much more than he bargained for, and that’s amazing.

Halloween’s the fucking best.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @latitta and reblog the fic post if you'd like!


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